


Beginning

by Northlight (anenko)



Series: Family Portraits [2]
Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Early Fandom, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-07
Updated: 2001-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenko/pseuds/Northlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which food is eaten, a proposal is made and a confrontation ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning

They had ended up at Charlie's place. She had recognized the apartment as his the first time she had seen it. Charlie's home was filled with objects that gave evidence to his personality and his interests. There were mystery novels on the top two shelves of his small bookcase, horror novels on the bottom two. There were video cassettes stacked next to the television, labelled as sports programs and old movies. There was a layer of dust visible in less trafficked areas, evidence of his non-enthusiasm for cleaning. In some places, a sense of space being well used bordered on clutter.

Charlie had been surprised when he saw Tinga's apartment. It was neat and precisely ordered and she was always careful not to put herself on display through possessions. He liked buying her things to fill her apartment, insisted on trying to turn a temporary dwelling into a home. She liked his gifts but knew that she'd leave them behind easily when the time came.

They were sitting on the center of Charlie's bed. The sheets were rumpled around them. Charlie had left for a moment and she had listened as he moved about in the kitchen. He had come back with a can and two spoons. "Guilty pleasure," Charlie said and dipped his spoon into the cherry pie filling. "'S good," he insisted and held out his spoon.

Tinga closed her lips around it. Rich, she thought, almost sickening to her sensitive tastebuds. She drew back and licked heavy wetness from the corner of her lips. "Not bad."

"I always loved cherry pies," Charlie said. "Haven't had one in years."

Tinga resisted the urge to shift. She loved learning about Charlie--his past, his likes and dislikes, his dreams. She sometimes felt as if she were cheating him. His secrets were met with evasion and half-truths on her part. "I'll help you make one," she said.

"Hmm," Charlie said. "I'm awful in the kitchen. Really."

"I'm good with food," Tinga said. She licked her fingers before rubbing them together. They were sticky.

"Yeah, I know. I love you for your skill in the kitchen," Charlie said. His smile was full of teeth, open and easy.

"Oh?" Tinga asked. She cast a sultry look in his direction. Sticky fingers trailed down his throat, across his chest. "That's all you love about me?"

"No. But that's pretty important. Really," Charlie attempted before giving up. "You're wonderful, Penny. I love you because you're you," he said and leaned forward to kiss her.

Tinga touched Charlie's eyebrow, cheek, jaw. "You're not bad yourself," she said, softly. She suddenly felt heavy, nearly frantic with the weight of her emotions. Tinga's eyes slid to the side. She sought out the tin precariously set upon the bed-spread. Her fingers slid through the thick filling, seeking out a cherry. Charlie took it from her, teeth scrapping against Tinga's fingertips. "Must be love," Tinga said lightly. "I don't share with just anyone."

"Penny," Charlie said, suddenly solemn.

She could feel the weight of his thoughts in the name he spoke. "We should put those away. I wouldn't want them to spill." Tinga rose.

"Don't," Charlie said.

"What?" Tinga asked.

"God," Charlie said. "Penny. Penny, don't pull away from me."

"I'm not," Tinga said. "I'm right here. I'm with you. We're good, Charlie."

"Yeah. Yeah. We could be incredible."

"I don't want to do this. Not now. Okay? Please," Tinga said. She wanted to rub her hands across her eyes, wanted to sigh. A good soldier didn't display weakness. The thought hit her hard and her heart ached. Charlie wasn't an enemy. He wasn't. He _wasn't_. Tinga rubbed her eyes and sighed long and deep. That part of her mind marked soldier remarked that even in truth she had been striving for a tactical advantage.

Charlie relented, not surprising. "Okay." He stood up.

Tinga touched his shoulder. "Charlie. Thank you for this."

"I like making you happy, Penny."

"I am. I'm happy. So happy."

"You look sad. Remote."

"I'm happy when I'm with you," Tinga said. She locked her eyes with his and willed him to believe.

Charlie lay a finger against her lips. "You have such a beautiful smile."

"Charlie," she said. She should leave. She should have stopped seeing him weeks ago. But Charlie made her smile and that felt real with him.

His voice was odd when he spoke again. "You've never been in love before."

"Charlie," Tinga repeated, off-balance.

"Okay. It's okay, Penny. Let's clean up," Charlie said. He had gained the tactical advantage at some point, and she couldn't think of where she had lost it. Charlie's fingers had moved to her cheek, tender. "C'mon."

They left the bedroom. Charlie's hand was resting on the nape of her neck. It had taken her a long while before she let him look closely at the mark on the back of her neck. She had felt more exposed with his eyes on her barcode than she had the first time she had sprawled naked onto his bed. Charlie had sensed that, even though he hadn't understood. He touched her there often to remind them both of what they were with each other.

"I should leave," Tinga said when they were done. She could still feel the heat of Charlie's hand against her barcode.

"Are you free tomorrow?" Charlie asked.

I can't, Tinga thought. "Yes. Yes, I'm free," she said.

...~*~...

Tinga learned cities by escape routes, weapon suppliers, informants. Charlie knew libraries, movie theaters, restaurants. He took her to supper at a small restaurant that Tinga had seen, marked on her mental map and labelled as unimportant.

The lasagna was good. She held her knife and fork and cut with precision. Tinga looked at Charlie and kept a smile in place. She didn't look to the left. She didn't have to. Tinga could sense Zack's disapproval radiating from the table he had claimed along the wall. "This is lovely," Tinga said.

"This place is great," Charlie agreed.

There was sauce on Charlie's bottom lip. Tinga leaned forward and arched her thumb across his mouth. She leaned back into her chair, sucked briefly at the edge of her thumb. She could hear Zack's utensils grating together.

Charlie was looking at her. His eyes were warm and full. He lowered his fork to his plate. "Penny," Charlie said. "These past few weeks, they've been some of the best of my life. We haven't know each other that long, but I can't imagine you not being in my life."

Stop. Oh, please, don't do this, Tinga thought. "Charlie."

Charlie's smile was lopsided. "This isn't going according to plan," he said. Charlie's hands were large and warm against Tinga's. He took a deep breath, and Tinga could hear his heart pounding. "I love you, Penny. Will you marry me?"

Tinga closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "God. Charlie. Oh, God, yes," Penny breathed. She didn't know what she was doing. He made her happy. She was happy in this place with this man. Tinga squeezed Charlie's hands. Her own were shaking. They never shook, not when she wasn't hurting.

"Penny," Charlie said, reverent.

Zack's voice was muttered discontent. "Tinga. Tinga. What do you think you're doing?"

Tinga returned home thirty minutes later. Zack was standing in the shadows outside Tinga's building. "You overbearing ass," Tinga growled. She stalked forward, fisted her hands in Zack's jacket. Charlie had been called away by an urgent phone call. Zack didn't know when to leave well enough alone. "What did you do?"

"Nothing permanent," Zack said. "Tinga."

"No. Shut up. You're insufferable."

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you. You didn't want to come to Portland. Now you're planning on setting up house with," Zack waved his hands, at a loss for adequate words, "him."

"I love him," Tinga said, fierce.

"Love him?" Zack said. "Love him? He's nothing, Tinga. _Nothing_."

"I love him," Tinga said.

"You can't. No. He's nobody," Zack said.

Tinga released Zack. She took a step back. She could taste anger at the back of her throat--Zack's, her own. "You're jealous," Tinga said with sudden certainty.

Zack blinked. He straightened. "I'm looking out for you. You're objectivity is shot all to hell. Fuck, Tinga. _Think_ for a minute!"

"I am. You're jealous. You are," Tinga said.

Zack regrouped. "You can't marry him. This isn't real. Penny isn't real. You know that."

"Who are you to say this isn't real?" Tinga demanded. "I want this."

"You weren't certain. You still aren't. You think this is new, exciting. Maybe you love him. It won't last. It can't. You can't stay with him. He can't take our lifestyle."

"You don't know that. You don't know me, Zack," Tinga said.

"Tinga. Damn it," Zack said. "Tinga, I know you. He knows your favourite movie, the books you enjoy, your favourite food. That's nothing. I know you bit your cheek until it bled when they took Jack away from us. I know you washed until your skin was raw after we killed the man in the woods. I know that you wanted Lydecker's praise, that you were proud when you receive it, and that you hate now that you were pleased. I know that you search your home for surveillance equipment every evening. I know that you listen for the sound of weapons. I know you, Tinga."

"I need more than that, Zack. I don't want to live alone forever, afraid," Tinga said.

"He'll be a liability. You'll make yourself vulnerable. Think long-term. What does this mean? Really. For him. For you."

"Zack. Oh, Zack," Tinga said. They didn't touch while they fought. Physical contact could be taken as an attack, forcing an escalation in tension. Tinga felt muffled without being able to touch. "I'm not a fool. I've been thinking about that. I've thought of things you haven't. I'm afraid, Zack."

"Tinga," Zack said.

"Trust me. Just trust me. Okay?" She curled her thumbs through her belt-loops. "I want to be happy. I don't know how long this will last, but I need to be happy. Please. Try to understand," Tinga said.

"You're going to get hurt. You aren't going to be able to grow old with him. You may not even have more than a few months. You know that."

"I know that," Tinga agreed. "It's my life, Zack. You can't tell me how to live it. You can't keep me from hurting."

"Tell me why. Why him. Why now. Truth," Zack said.

"Because he makes me feel loved. Happy. Normal. Because no one else has tried to figure me out. He won't. He can't. But he wants to know me, Zack."

"I don't agree with this," Zack told her. His voice was low, tight. His face was shuttered.

Tinga reached out, slow. She pressed her hand against Zack's cheek. Warm flesh, bristles, bone. She could feel the blood beneath his skin. "What was your moment, Zack? When you stopped and finally realized that this isn't Manticore?"

Zack shook his head. "Be happy while you can, then." He was leaving.

"I'll eat a piece of wedding cake for you," Tinga said to Zack's back.

"Okay," Zack said, so soft she barely heard him. "Okay."


End file.
